A lesson in humanity, or something like that

So, I got in an accident today. It was one of those stupid, extremely avoidable ones that left an (equally avoidable) bad taste in everyone’s mouths. My friend and I were on a motorcycle, driving very responsibly for the most part. We were less than five minutes from our destination when my friend decided to make a quick right turn onto a side street. We turn, suddenly realize there’s an autorickshaw coming full speed in the opposite direction (that’s now screeching its brakes), try to make a quick getaway, and ultimately fail.

My left foot ended up colliding head-on with the auto’s headlight; my friend flew for a bit and hit his shoulder on the pavement; both vehicles toppled onto their sides; the rickshaw passengers (a mother and son) fell on top of each other; and the rickshaw driver fell onto his side. In true Indian ish-tyle, there were 40 spontaneous spectators, a fraction of whom helped all of us up.

As they say, “it all happened so fast.”

It turned out that my foot was the only seemingly serious injury of the lot, emotional shock notwithstanding. We were luckily two blocks away from a hospital, so my immediate thought was to hobble back onto the bike and get my foot X-rayed. I was in serious pain, up to the “holding back tears so I don’t look like a wimpy little girl” point, so I was moving as fast as my good leg would allow me. However, before I could actually sit on the bike, the rickshaw driver yelled out for my friend and me.

Now, please note I have really tried to lose my American accent when I speak Hindi. An unforeseen consequence is that I sometimes end up sounding like a well-to-do mem-sahib. People therefore end up judging me in ways I don’t intend, which in this case was not helpful at all:

Driver: Madam, you have to come with me. My headlight is completely broken and you need to come with me to the mechanic.

Me: What?! Can’t it wait? I’m in serious pain here and need to go to the doctor.

Driver: I don’t care. You have to come to the mechanic first. You’re the one who caused the accident anyway.

Me: I’ll come to the mechanic after getting my foot X-rayed.

Driver: Then what will happen to my headlight? If you go and I never see you again, then I’ll have to pay for the headlight myself. It’s at least Rs. 2000, and I can’t afford that.

Me: Look, I know the accident was our fault and I promise we’ll pay for it. I can even give you my mobile number. We’ll be back in 45 minutes from the hospital – my foot is just really hurting and needs to be checked out. (At this point, one or two involuntary tears started to betray me).

Driver: But what would have happened if I died, or if I got seriously injured? Who would have paid for that? You would have just run away. We’re poor people; your foot will be fixed, but I need the money now.

At this point, one would think I was livid at this heartless rickshaw driver. But I actually wasn’t angry with him at all. Rather, I was angry at Indian society for consistently demonstrating how little it cares about the proverbial bottom of its pyramid, and how the rickshaw driver’s response was actually the only rational one. I was angry at all the spoiled rich kids in this country who have run their expensive cars over homeless people and have gotten away with it. I was angry at the fact that this rickshaw driver thought I was one of those kids, when I knew I was a responsible citizen. I was angry at the peanut gallery who preferred to mindlessly scratch their bellies rather than bring any humanity to this situation. Most of all, I was angry at my foot for not being able to move.

I am ashamed to say I behaved out of character. I took my collective anger out on the rickshaw driver, even though I knew I didn’t actually mean it. I didn’t even say the things I wanted to say. I yelled at him, asking him what kind of person he was for thinking a headlight was more important than a person’s health. I told him that his little paper cut was nothing compared to my throbbing foot. I told him I was a very trustworthy person and why doesn’t anyone trust anyone these days.

The peanut gallery continued to scratch.

The rickshaw driver didn’t quite know what to say. He maintained his stance, but his face changed. I noticed his hands were badly shaking as he typed my friend’s license plate into his phone. I kept yelling at him, asking why he was taking so long to type the number in. I then gave him my mobile number and told him to meet us outside the hospital in 45 minutes.

Two overpriced X-rays and one failed “pop a wheelie on the wheelchair” attempt later, we learned that my foot was thankfully not broken. (For the record, it’s just badly swollen and shocked, and needs a bit of TLC.) We thanked God for the injuries being so minor, for the autorickshaw not being a bus, for the hospital being so nearby, for… well, a lot.

Later that evening, I had a few minutes alone with the rickshaw driver, where I apologized for my inexcusable behaviour. I explained our side of the story – how we were tired from trekking all day, how my friend is usually an excellent driver, and how momentary lapses of judgment can happen with anyone. He sheepishly told me his side of the story as well – how his vehicles is on lease, how so many of his friends have gone in debt from these accidents, and how he had to be sure he would get his money. As an act of goodwill, I showed him my injuries up close and he gave me a few home remedies for them.

In the end, my friend and I paid the rickshaw driver the Rs. 2,000, even though we recognized it included a large fair skin / mem-sahib premium. We were just unwilling to bargain with a crooked mechanic when we were so overwhelmed with shame and guilt.

I’m not sure what the broader point of this story is. No, I don’t foresee the relationship between rickshaw drivers and mem-sahibs changing. Nor do I foresee fewer hit & runs as a result of this minor scuffle. I just see a society that, while beautiful in many ways, is fundamentally flawed in so many others.

(Note to family and friends: Really, I’m fine. My left foot may look like it belongs on a baby elephant, but it’s really not that badly hurt.)

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6 Responses

I’m trying to believe you when you say you’re OK! I’m still shocked I spent so long in Mumbai and never got hurt in one way or another. I think your story comes out on the side of humanity. Please feel better!

It is truly agonising when the so called Desis (read born and brought in Bombay) donot think the way you do. It is amazing that apart from your subject… you have developed the ability to reach out to the bottom of things… empathise… which we all seem to have forgotten with time. Well for the most part, for convenience sake, we blame it on the system, whether it be governance or be it the disparities that have taken root in society, but certainly its a much larger issue. It is an individualised behavioral pattern that seems to be utterly infectious compared to the swine flus and bird flus of the day. With the bomb blasts, communal riots, regional imbalances, financial disparities, inhumane treatment and the list is long, adding fuel to fire…

I absolutely loved this post! It is full of humility, compassion, and acceptance of human limitations. I applaud you for being able to speak about the event so frankly.

I had somewhat similar experiences in Mumbai where my consciousness, patience, and compassion went out of the window; basically the “do good doer” in me checked out. I went ahead with my anger and demand for “me” time, and pushed away a little beggar girl who was used to me buying her ice cream whenever I was hanging out at Chowpatty Beach. After I calmed down, the shame of letting my anger to rule over me was very painful.

From now on, whenever I feel I am ready to fly off the handle, I bring forth the images and the memories of that incident, and try not to make the same mistake.

Your words are a true reflection of this Darwinist society sometimes referred to as Mumbai.

There are so many issues that you have brought to light; the idealistic and materialistic gap between the haves and the have-nots; compassion for fellow citizens; the need to end lawlessness and more than anything is how easy it is to fall into chaos mode.

The hardest part is to put ourselves in others shoes, no matter who they are, and try to empathize. I admire that you did that even with shooting pain down your legs. Most of us are incapable of this regardless of mental or physical capacity.

Your blog is great… even in the five weeks that I’ve been here I can completely empathize with much of what you have to say. Mostly, I get frustrated with myself for not having more patience – but sometimes it’s impossible to control the anger! I’m impressed that you dealt with the situation as well as you did!

Hope you feel better soon. Give me a call/email if you feel up to hanging out this week. You can meet my new roomie/SPARC’s new intern Alyssa.